


Jailbird

by Lazy_Martian, violetrabbit



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police & Yakuza, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Bondage, Dom/sub Play, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Genji doesn't know what he wants, Genji is alive, Genji wears skirts, Handcuffs, Hanzo is also sad, Hanzo is scared, Hanzo lost his legs, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Jesse is a sub, Jesse is very sad, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Piercings, Prosthetics, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Things Get Better, Zenyatta is a healing force, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy_Martian/pseuds/Lazy_Martian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetrabbit/pseuds/violetrabbit
Summary: Jesse McCree is a man haunted by a criminal past trying to redeem himself through police work; running from his mistakes, he makes his way to Tokyo, far from the home he once had and an outsider in this neon wonderland. Hanzo is the standing head of the Shimada Yakuza gang, unstable and power hungry, with more vices than he can count on both hands. Genji is the black sheep of the Shimada family, working as an officer of the law, who relies on his older brother more than he cares to admit. A fascination with cold cases leads them to unearth grisly secrets on a murder left to be forgotten, down a rabbit hole and into the dark underbelly of the city that lights up the world.





	1. A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

Being a cop was far from easy. Being a cop in a foreign country, in a city three times the size of New York, where nothing was ever in fucking English and the underground crime circuit ran rampant right under their noses was even harder. Jesse was damn tired of it all, tired of struggling to understand, of fighting to make a city that wasn't home feel inviting after three years. Funny thing, wanting a home. Since that was the exact thing he was running from - home was a bitter place, filled with memories of a broken family, a past littered with burned bridges and bad decisions. Still, even halfway across the world, he felt like an outcast in a neon world of promises and lies.

He'd become a cop in the first place to try and...Make up for his past, he supposed. Criminal to crime stopper. It was a fair trade, wasn't it? Still, he always seemed to dredge up sour memories in his line of work, always had to make the hard decisions. Tonight was no different. It had to be nearing midnight; he finished his black, bitter coffee and crushed the paper cup when it was empty, tossing it into the trash before he stepped back into the interrogation room. His partner, and usually translator, was waiting there and acknowledged him with a nod; he sighed and sat back down in his metal chair. His uniform itched and felt dirty, grimy after a long day of use. He wished he wasn't here. His eyes flickered up to the suspect handcuffed to the other side of the table, a supposed member of the Yakuza gang that ran this district. He was older, graying at his temples and had a cut above his left eyebrow that had dripped a thin line of blood down the line of his high cheekbone. He jotted down more details as they watched each other with a tense distaste, wondering who would fill the silence of the bleak room first.

Dark grey eyes, the shade of rain-laden storm clouds before they began their rage, stared at the officers. His face didn't twitch- one would almost think he fell asleep with his eyes open- if it weren't for the fact the man had to blink. The feeling of drying blood down the side of his face was unpleasant, especially when he felt it reach his chin. He really didn't want to have to clean his beard of his own blood. He didn't speak for a moment before a soft string of Japanese spilled from his mouth, the translator running a hand through his hair, opening his mouth to respond- before slipping into Japanese and making an obviously practiced retort, the tone sounding only amused. "He wants to know the charges against him, erm, this time," the translator said in English after another quick round of Japanese. Hanzo looked less than happy- though his face said nothing, his eyes said he was going to kill them both if the cuffs came off. He'd been staring almost directly at the translator, his brother, with little to no interest in the officer beside him. The green streak in his hair was impossible to mistake, let alone the minor scarring along the right cheek Hanzo had left as a warning if they ever crossed paths as enemies again. Hanzo had never felt betrayed by Genji leaving- he felt betrayed by Genji targeting his group for fun. Which, more often than not, resulted in them fighting... though this time, he was angry as hell. He'd been brought in with no warning from the younger brother, no inkling as to why. Usually, if he was 'apprehended', it was nonviolent and there was a warning, as it usually entailed that Genji needed the Yakuza's help to track down a renegade criminal.

But this time? this time Hanzo had blood spilt, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a _fucking_ Westerner.

He sighed, shuffling the papers before him and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to think; it'd been a long day, and the tension crackling in the air of this room didn't help. "Well, seems here yer in on suspicion fer involvement with an armed robbery. We got reasonable evidence," he began, and finally looked up, leveling his gaze with Hanzo's. "But on toppa that there's assault of an officer an' resistin' arrest." The nice shiner and scratch on his cheek his partner was wearing was a clear reminder of that. "Now, look--" He paused, glancing down at the case report to confirm a name, " _Han_ zo...We don't want any trouble. We jus' know yer a good source on...These kinds a' things. So if y'jus' give us some info on who them other robbers were, maybe where we could find 'em, I'm sure we can lessen yer sentence t' community service." He could already tell by the look on this guy's face he wasn't going to cooperate easily, and that only made the ache of exhausted frustration settled in his bones worse. He didn't want to be here for another two hours, bargaining a confession out of him, but they needed to get something before they locked him up at the station for the night.(edited)

The Yakuza were a constant battle with the force. They had far more control, and a greater breadth of influence than the police, which made working with them tricky at best, and working against them a death wish. The people were usually on their side, if only because the rich crime lords who headed up these gangs tended to be very philanthropic to their preferred causes, garnering public support despite the other crimes they committed - or worse, they owed them a debt so their support was obligated. So you'd easily end up with more witnesses for the defense of a Yakuza than you would for the prosecution. They tended to be violent, temperamental smart asses that hated the force as much as the force hated them, and one of the few scenarios where his Western accent hurt the situation. "Th' faster you cooperate, th' faster we can both get outta here..." he muttered in addition, already getting a sinking feeling as to how this would go.

A few moments passed before a slew of Japanese fell from the Yakuza's mouth, the tone clearly quite irritated and frankly sounding like he'd rather be held at gunpoint than listen to this. He shifted to a sarcastic tone midway through, before locking eyes with McCree- Whatever that last sentence was, it was clearly a challenge.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Every Yakuza member I know of has been clean of all robberies for two full years- you're looking for a different mob. Though, a western- erm- let's say 'dog'- like you wouldn't buy that, especially if you've been accepted onto the police force. Record what you want, I don't care; just because I head the gang doesn't mean I control everything. If my members committed a robbery, they're mine to punish, not yours. The fact a... dog... like you has the nerve to not only arrest me for playfully wrestling with my own brother is amazing- though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Westerners assume everything remotely violent is a threat. Though if you'd like to prove me wrong, you could always undo the handcuffs...unless you're not willing to trust a disarmed old man?" Genji looked like he was ever so slightly amused by Hanzo's words, even as he translated them.

"Bullshit. I had brothers, an' when we had lil' play fights, no one threw punches like that--" he pointed to Officer Shimada as an example, "and there sure as **hell** weren't any fuckin' _knives._ " To punctuate this, he dropped the switchblade they'd confiscated from him onto the table, giving him a glare. Yeah, he was already fed up with this jackassery, it was late and he wasn't going to waste time trying to be the buddy cop. He wanted this guy taken care of so he could go home and rest. "Tell me what he really said, Genji," he said, not even looking at his partner. "I know y'toned down that name t'spare my feelin's, but I can betcha I've been called worse." His teeth grit and he narrowed his eyes. "I was trained on one a' th' best fuckin' forces in th' west, which's pretty much th' only reason why I got hired here in th' first place. I made a record number a' non-violent arrests, an' I got an award fer my service. So forgive me fer bein' the _idiotic Westerner_ who dragged yer smart ass in here."

"He called you an insolent dick and offered to remove your head from your shoulders," Genji replied. 

"And I would- if it were not for the fact seeing you angry was more satisfying than I care to admit. My brother and I used to fight with guns and _katana_. He has broken my bones, and I his- if you think that was _dangerous,_ then perhaps you are a bit too old for this job, you unkempt mutt," Hanzo replied, a rather amused- and in a way, cruelly playful- half-grin cracking his stoic face. "If you had not interfered, we would have settled our little fight and I would have come in willingly. _Your_ presence made me hostile. If I wanted Genji dead, I have had more chances than you have arrests, Officer. Now, be angry if you like- but lay a hand on me, and I will happily see you in court." Genji looked like he wasn't sure if he should call for backup- or go get popcorn. 

He didn't even blink when Genji told him the truth; he had been called worse, and some days, he felt the part. "Genji called fer backup. I responded appropriately. If you'd jus' gotten in th' damn cruiser when he _asked_ \--" He cut himself off, taking a deep, forced breath as he felt the rage boiling up inside him. Doc said is wasn't good for his blood pressure to get so angry; he pulled out a cigarillo and his lighter instead. Damn things weren't good for his blood pressure either, but they helped him calm down - screw that 'No Smoking' sign on the wall. "If I'm too old fer this job, then you're too old t'be actin' like such a goddamn child," he muttered as he flicked the lighter a few times, until the flame sprung up and he lit the end not wedged between his teeth. "An' **I** won't lay a finger on ya, _sir,_ " The word was clearly spat with no respect intended. "--Genji, throw him in th' drunk tank. I can handle th' paperwork in th' mornin'...Too fuckin' tired fer this right now..." He stood up as he spoke, puffing at his cigarillo, face crumpled with annoyance and defeat. Maybe this Hanzo guy was right. Maybe he was too old. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this anymore - but what else was there for him..? Without this job, this shot at redemption...He was meaningless. 

"... in all fairness, Officer... that was the best introduction to an officer I have had in a long time. You at least have my respect- not many people are willing to try and tame my tongue. If you put me in the drunk tank, Genji, I will come out with murder charges." Hanzo leaned back in his chair with a slight, smug smirk that only said he was looking forward to further interrogation. "And one more thing... at least smoke outside. Someone in here might have asthma." Genji stood, promptly grabbing Jesse and trying to drag him out of the room before his brother inevitably made him pissed and spiked the blood pressure. 

 He had to resist telling Hanzo to go fuck himself as Genji dragged him outside, where he promptly yanked his arm from his partner's grip. "What th' hell was that for, man..? I can get outside by m'damn self, I ain't some frail ol' man crossin' th' street, an' you sure as hell ain't no boy scout..!" he snapped, still on edge about this whole encounter. He hated how easily Hanzo got into his head and said things that twisted his gut and made his breath hitch, making him feel inadequate and weak despite having the advantage in that situation. He was breathing harder than he realized, the acrid smoke of his cigarillo burning his throat as the techno insanity of Tokyo blared around them - they were in Akihabara, after all. He felt like his eyes might've shown a trace of fear, and he despised it. 

"How...I mean, he's your brother, yeah? Cantcha...Keep him under control or somethin'..?" he asked, nearly pleaded before massaging the bridge of his nose and pacing a bit. "Naw, naw - don't. I...I oughta go home. Maybe we should jus' release him, I can't say fer sure if that evidence's enough--" There he was, with thirteen years of police force experience under his belt and still second-guessing himself.

"Hanzo is never... under control, Jesse. He has never been completely stable- he loves reactions. One might think of him as a very, very lethal bully. A very manipulative, lethal bully who does not even have to touch you." Genji gently patted his back, a concerned expression on his face. "My brother may pretend to let you control him, but never mistake it. He is always planning how to kill you, how to trick you, how to make you fear him. The one time I managed to get him into a prison, he had broken out within days- after managing to start a riot." Genji sighed after a minute, watching him pace before stopping him, giving him a small, slightly scarred smile. "Go home. Rest your head- come back, try again. He'll never admit it directly, but if anything we can get him to hurt his own men and get the money back... it will be better than nothing."

Jesse took a long drag from his cigarillo, staring at the flashing Japanese metropolis. How did he even end up here, of all places? What had drawn him to this strange fantasy land with such a dark underbelly..? 

Whatever the case, he was deep in the rabbit hole now. 

"Why d'ya think y'turned out so different from yer brother, Shimada?" he asked quietly; he often called Genji by his last name as a fond gesture. "Y'all took completely opposite paths...But y'still end up meetin' again an' again..." He trailed off, tapping the loose ash from the edge of his smoke before he glanced over his shoulder at his partner; the look in his eyes was unreadable. "...D'ya believe in fate? Like, somethin' greater, drivin' us t'wherever we end up, all our actions... Predestined? Like we ain't got no choice in th' matter..?" He stared at him for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into a silent eternity, then he dropped his cig butt and ground it out under his shoe before he walked back inside to gather his things and clock out. 

His mouth was bitter with the poison of tobacco smoke, a flavor he'd come to know better than his own.

Genji didn't have an answer. Not a suitable one, not one that would ever satisfy Jesse. He knew why he and Hanzo had turned out so drastically different- he knew why he was allowed to be a bachelor and, as his brother called him, a willing man whore. But the answer would never satisfy Jesse. It didn't even satisfy him. He just sighed in silence as he listened to McCree's question, hands sliding in his pockets as he waited for the poor man to leave. Hanzo would be a problem for Jesse, a thorn in his side if he couldn't learn how to handle him. 

Genji could only watch and assist now- Hanzo found him a challenge, an amusement, a toy. And that just made it that much harder to keep his partner safe from the Yakuza's abuse.

 

 

 


	2. Drinking Buddies

Wordlessly, McCree went through the motions of leaving the station, the same as he did every night until now. He gathered the meager belongings he brought with him each day - a jacket, a coffee mug (now empty), a change of shoes and shirt - into the backpack he toted them in, checked his pockets for phone, keys, wallet, and signed out before trudging out through the side door and making his way to the train station. 

Aboard the commuter L line, the fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling of the cabin stung Jesse's eyes, but the soft chatter of late-night riders and the clacking of the train over its tracks failed to command his attention over the thoughts swirling in his head. He'd opted to stand, holding onto a grip hanging from the rails that ran the length of each section of seats, but was hunched over somewhat; he felt like a giant in this country, towering over most men and all of the women, and the fact that it made him so noticeable, a _target,_ compelled him to try and detract attention from himself. He held a staring contest with the window, gaze far from here, focused on God knows what. 

Lately, it was growing more and more difficult to reconcile his past misdeeds with his contributions to justice. He did what he could to numb the guilt which twisted like a knife in his heart, and the ache that came with a hangover after a night of drinking was a reasonable exchange for the empty blackness of his sleep it provided. 

The train dropped him off three blocks from his apartment, and he hunkered down to walk the rest of the way there; winter was setting in, and it was getting colder, especially at night. His feet moved on autopilot, the path muscle memory at this point. A stiff breeze whipped through the air; his lips were chapped from the dry weather, but the more he wet them, the worse the chap became. If that wasn't as succinct a metaphor for his efforts to move beyond his transgressions as anything...The harder he tried, the worse everything got.

He collapsed into his bed, still dressed, as soon as he reached it, but couldn't fall asleep for another two hours; therefore it was no surprise that he slept through his alarm the next morning, his first word upon waking "Fuck," as he checked the time on his phone with bleary eyes. He needed a shower, and he barely had time to brush his hair; a toothbrush propped in his mouth, he called Genji, rushing his words into the phone pinned to his ear by a shoulder, explaining the situation to his partner.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin' in today, jus' a...Touch late, here, gimme... Fifteen grace minutes, wontcha..? God, fuckin' hell-- sorry fer this, I promise I ain't gonna make a habit of it--"

"Jesse. You dealt with my brother for the first time yesterday. Most men would quit upon learning he can mess with their brain like that, or upon learning what he can do. I do not blame you for needing some grace time." Genji's voice was understanding, though it was evident he was already at the office; he'd gotten up early to excuse Jesse's absence, though he wouldn't tell Jesse that. "Make your way here in your own due time. Hanzo is rather giddy to meet you again- he took his medication willingly, if it meant you would be stuck in the interrogation room with him."

Genji was watching his brother; as per usual, upon consent of taking his meds, the more vicious of the pair was allowed to wander back and forth in the interrogation room so long as no officers were inside. They knew better than to try and get him to stay still- last time, they had to replace the two way glass. Hanzo had taken the chair and broken it in, all because he wanted something to do other than sit there. It was part of what convinced Genji to force him onto medication. Which had taken bribery and counseling to achieve.

"Come in with your hat on. He likes people with hats. Never known why. He'll be more focused on your hat than he will be willing to fuck with you- and we can probably get him to talk sensibly if he's distracted." 

Jesse sighed, feeling an air of disappointment settle over him, eyes weary and body tired; Genji was already in, and then there was him: a late, unprepared mess. He thanked his partner wearily, and hung up without much other conversation. His shower was cold - he couldn't afford to waste time waiting for the water heater to take effect - and he quickly pulled on his clean uniform, the other left crumpled on the floor. He nearly forgot his wallet in the back pocket of yesterday's pants, and he sure as hell didn't have time for breakfast at this rate. 

Uniform shoes in the pack slung over his shoulder, jacket shrugged on, and hat on his head, he stumbled out the door at the fastest pace he could muster. The three blocks to the station had never flown by so fast, and he didn't recognize half of his surroundings; was this really where he lived..? The streets were dirty and desolate, buildings grey, sagging and ugly. He swallowed hard and focused on the sidewalk in front of him. 

In contrast, he didn't think the L train had ever moved more slowly. It was saturated with passengers, and crawled along station by station until his stop was finally announced; Jesse burst out the doors, pushing through the crowd uncharacteristically until he was able to breathe again, as though he hadn't exhaled once the entire ride. He felt suffocated by his own thoughts, telling him he was a failure, a coward, someone who ran away from his problems instead of fixing them. He was winded when he finally reached the front doors, and went for the shitty coffee first, needing something to fill the gnawing hunger of his stomach, and a way to stay awake for more than another hour. His head pounded, and his vision blurred a little before he blinked it away, slogging back to put his things up and change his shoes. He passed the interrogation room on his way to the lockers, and the sight of Hanzo, pacing restlessly, made his mouth go dry. 

Genji was waiting at his desk, a croissant and a muffin having been ever so kindly placed on Jesse's- he'd deny it was him, but he did want Jesse fully able. The rushed sound of his voice had alerted him to the fact he was likely unable to eat that morning- it wasn't a meal, but it was something. 

The brother waved at Jesse, streak of green confirming it was him as he stood up to bound over to him. He looked weary and a little more than exhausted (had he been watching his brother all night?) but it was definitely Genji, stupidly doofish grin and all. "You look tired," was the first thing out of his mouth, as though he had room to speak. "Took less than fifteen minutes though." 

"Ain't you jus' th' pot callin' th' kettle black..!" he teased, but his laugh was sluggish, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was leaning against his desk as he nursed another coffee, watery and bitter; the pastries caught his attention, and he glanced at Genji while he took the muffin, a grateful tinge to his gaze. The first bite tasted like heaven; he'd missed dinner last night as well, and he was starving by now. "Can't believe it didn't take fifteen; that damn L train felt like it was movin' slower than a lame snail," he muttered, eyes now fixed on the window to the interrogation room. He couldn't see Hanzo from his current angle, but he was more than certain the man could see him. "He's unarmed, right? Still think I oughta take th' cuffs in with me..?" he inquired, gaze never leaving the window. His stomach rolled with the thought of what the man in that room could probably do to him with a aluminum chair and his ballpoint pen. 

"Hanzo will not kill without appropriate reason. He is like a cat- a sadistic cat, yes, but a cat. He bats his prey around until he's bored, which leads to either them being free or... not so much." Genji's smile was reassuring, though it seemed a little more than just comforting- whatever it was, it was hidden well. "Do not worry about cuffing him. That might make him even more dangerous, to be fair- giving him a method of choking you is not the best of ways to make an impression." Genji looked over at the window quietly. "He will not harm you. I am sure of it. He knows his boundaries, he took his medication. He should be fine- and if he is not... he knows I will not hesitate to shoot him to get him off a... fellow officer." 

"Alright. I trust ya. But maybe...We oughta spend a few minutes...Alone?" he suggested, casting Genji a sympathetic look. He'd taken notice of the tension present between the brothers last night, and wanted to avoid any unnecessary conflict in this very sensitive situation. He knew that with a man who could play mind games so easily, every word was like stepping on eggshells. There was also a small part of him that didn't want to look weak, dependent on his younger partner for support during a simple interrogation. 

He nodded to Genji, checked his gun (holstered), his keys (back pocket), radio (at his belt) - there wasn't much more he could do other than grab the bull by the horns, now. He adjusted his hat and grabbed the paperwork from his desk with a sigh before entering the room, as sterile and empty as it always was. Not to mention unusually cold, nearly as frigid as the glare the gangster shot him when he offered a simple, "Mornin', Mr. Shimada," by way of a greeting. He knew this wasn't going to proceed smoothly or easily, so he just resigned to taking deep breaths and staying on task. 

Hanzo's eyes were steely, almost as sharp as the knife that had been confiscated as he offered back a smooth, rather kind greeting in Japanese- _"Ohayou, McCree."_ The difference between tone and gaze was like that of night and day. Hanzo quietly took a seat, setting his elbows on the table and holding his wrists up almost expectantly; it was as though the routine was tedious, the event of being chained like an animal almost normal. The expression on his face was indifferent, but his eyes spoke another story- He looked like he despised the fact he would be chained up. Again. 

"And might I ever so callously assume this is for the same charges?" 

"I don't got th' cuffs this time, yer free t'wander," he murmured in reply to the gesture Hanzo made with his wrists; free being a relative term, of course. His tone sounded defeated, as though he knew he'd already lost whatever battle was set to be washed today. And honestly, in a life full of failures, what was one more lost fight? "Yeah, it's on th' same charges. But things're changin' up a lil' bit - we got a tape we wanna show ya, an' all we need t'hear is that y'recognize th' men pictured, may've had involvement with 'em - not necessarily in this here case, jus' in th' past - an' identify 'em b'fore yer free t'go with jus' a small fine fer th' other misdemeanors," he explained, squinting at the page. Damn, he needed reading glasses at his age? Was he really that old...? 

He stood and nodded through the window, motioning for Genji to help him roll in a television perched on a wheeled cart; it squeaked as it was moved, a grating sound that was a protest to its age. McCree felt like he could identify with the plastic thing. The tape was already in, so all that was left was to plug it in and hit play. "It's a lil' grainy, sorry fer th' quality; conbini cameras ain't all that late at night," he mentioned idly as he looked for the power button. 

Hanzo's eyes narrowed slowly, pulling himself back in his chair to fold his arms- he looked almost defensive, no longer as smug as he was to begin with. Whatever that was going on in his mind was impossible to judge; he looked either highly insulted or highly worried. Or a mix of both. He noticed the hat now that he was actually paying attention to the attire, eyes staring at the hat as his mind wandered to what it was made of. He loved hats- and jackets. Anything that was an accessory that was practical. It made him wonder. 

He watched his brother come in and leave, the sound of the squeaking irritating his ears and making him hiss under his breath. He didn't say anything for a moment, watching Jesse search for the power button before a soft murmur came up. "The right side, highest button." His words were shorter, his tone now monotone- almost that of someone trying to not show their intent or mood. He seemed far less open now that Jesse hadn't cuffed him- but somehow far more interested in what was happening. 

He almost said "Thanks," but was unsure if it would sound patronizing or sarcastic, and so simply stayed quiet as he hit the power button, then, once the TV had booted up, play on the remote he'd nabbed from the cart. The footage that played was about five minutes of grainy, washed-out film of the front of a conbini store, which had an ATM outside. 

At the thirty second mark, a car pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the store's doors, but no one exited the vehicle for another two minutes, when an older gentleman shuffled up to the machine to withdraw money. At that point, the car doors opened, and a few men in dark jackets hopped out, seeming to say something to the old man, since he turned to face them, looking nervous. They encroached further. Then, at around a meter and a half from the man, the thug closest to him pulled out a handgun and pointed it at him. The barrel was pushed to his head, and he looked back at the ATM, trembling. It seemed he was forced at gunpoint to withdraw a chunk of money, which he handed to the men, who preceded back to their car and drove off; after the car was out of the frame, the man collapsed, and McCree paused the video. 

"Th' old man reported ¥50,000 stolen from him at gunpoint by three men with a twisty dragon emblem on their jackets, all with long hair, an' the tallest had a scar over his right eye; he didn't get a clear view of th' car the assailants drove, but th' tag includes th' letters M, P, an' W, and th' number six. Does anythin' outta that seem familiar?" he asked slowly began, trying to ease them into the purpose of the questioning. 

He looked between the screen and McCree, and back to the screen. He looked heavily displeased- not quite _angry_ , but definitely dispelased. "Shimada family emblem," he replied quietly. "Two dragons. Twisting around each other. If that is accurate, they are my men."

He didn't move from his chair as he watched the clip, examining the environment to see if the man was someone he'd been meaning to collect a debt from. He recognized nothing not the storefront, not the ATM. "Do you know where this was? It would help me identify the cause of this... rather unsavory blemish on my reputation." Oh, his voice gave away everything at that point- he was betrayed, and he was _angry_ for it. Whoever had done this wasn't simply going to pay by law enforcement- They might actually need protection form the law if they wanted to live to see trial. 

"Osakusa. Th' ATM was a generic one that could draw from any bank fer a fee, but th' victim said he was withdrawin' from his NBJ account. Last name was Yaro," McCree informed him. "It was outside a' th' primary district y'all... Frequent, an' th' amount stolen wasn't all that much, which's what we're hung up on at th' moment. Officer Shimada recognized th' victim's description a' th' emblem as well, an' thought it might be able t'be traced t'you." He sighed; he almost felt guilty that they had to drag this man in with charges just to question him. Then again, Hanzo seemed used to the procedure; he certainly didn't look like he'd lost any sleep over a night at the station. 

He chewed his cheek a little, and took off his hat to fiddle with the brim. "...Uh, one theory I had...was that a rival gang, if y'got any, had knowledge a' th' Shimada crest, an'...Well, forged recreations t'commit th' crime, in th' hopes a' framin' you," he leaned in to say, tone hushed; he hadn't told Genji about this yet. "Unless y'can provide definite identities fer th' men or th' car involved." 

"I cannot do anything from in here," he replied curtly, audible tapping coming from under the table. "Yaro is not a name I have on my list of indebted. At all. I know that list like I know my own hand," he muttered, biting his lip. "If anyone was to recreate the family emblem, it would take work to make it look credible- yet knowing the fear my emblem inspires in those targeted also implies they would get away with doing such a thing, and that reaction of fainting would be warranted." Hanzo looked as though he was barely fazed; his body language only said he was thinking, and his eyes said nothing beyond immeasurable rage. He looked ready to choke someone out- though his eyes were fixated primarily on Jesse's hat. 

"Leather?" 

Jesse nodded slowly as Hanzo spoke, taking in what little information he was given; this seemed like a lost cause, at least while the elder brother was still confined to the station. He couldn't decide if he was disappointed they hadn't obtained any leads in the case, or relieved that this could mean the end of working with Hanzo; something about just being in the same room as the man made him uneasy. He was about to thank him for his time, inform him of the fees he needed to settle and hand over a copy of his citation to bid him off with, but was caught off guard by the question about his hat. He looked down at the old thing, one of the last reminders of his previous life he'd held onto, and felt his heart wrench; no matter how many years passed, little details like the burn mark half-concealed by the decorative band encircling it, still held power over his emotions, still pulled a reaction from him despite how he willed himself not to think of it. 

"...Naw, felt," he replied, and without hesitation, slid the hat across the table for Hanzo to examine. So what - If the man had a harmless interest in it, why not indulge his curiosity? 

Hanzo's hands reached out to feel the material, seeming to discard the previous subject as he felt the cap; he always found that the meaningless things that people wore told more about them than they cared to admit more often than not. Gloves, jackets, hats- even purses and how they were kept. People could tell lies- objects could not. Wear and abuse would tell stories- and this man was strangely intriguing, enough that he _wanted_ to know. Officer McCree had done nothing but impress him, going so far as to correct him to his face and even shove in his face when he was wrong. Which, by all accounts, was _brazen-_ and Hanzo, though he wouldnt' say it, loved it. Brazen, bold officers were always the best to _**break.**_  

"You have been through more than I give you credit for, old man. Though I have to say... I do not believe you are much older than me... so perhaps I should call you an equal in age." 

"I _feel_ like an ol' man, might as well call me one," he chuckled weakly, eyes tired and melancholy as he watched Hanzo handle his hat. Normally, he kept the thing to himself, as though it were a cherished treasure, but he felt like, maybe, he and Hanzo had similar scars on their pasts, and this forged an odd, flimsy trust between them, one that permitted the sharing of such trivial objects. Perhaps that's what bothered him about Hanzo; the man was so close to what he could've become. And the chill of his gaze, calculating and without empathy, was one he was glad he'd never seen in his own reflection. 

"Been through hell an' back, but all I got t'show fer it's a few burns," he muttered, eyes growing distant again as he withdrew into his thoughts, away from the echoing stillness of the interrogation room. 

Hanzo's eyes softened as he stared at the hat, seemingly losing himself in thought as time stretched on; he didn't hand it back for quite some time, eyes betraying some form of adoration for the inanimate thing. When he finally did hand it back, he looked different- softer, less upset- less tense. He didn't speak for a moment, quietly retracting his hand before looking at the man carefully. "You have my respect at the very least, Officer McCree." 

He seemed closed off yet strangely open towards the other man- though his eyes showed more intrigued than anger, and strangely enough seemed rather soft- at least, in comparison to the blades he was glaring earlier. 

That time, McCree did thank him, though the word was quiet, subdued almost to the point of being bashful; he didn't bother revealing it was truly because he was wary of Hanzo. That sudden switch in emotion made him shudder; it was smooth, almost practiced, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was honest. What about him made this criminal change demeanor so quickly? 

He accepted his hat back and carefully set it on his head, then stared at Hanzo in silence for a long moment, his face impassive but eyes dark with a deeper story. "...Well, here's them forms you'll need t'settle up front; th' fines ain't too harsh, 'specially not fer a guy with your background," he said finally, smiling somberly as he slid a couple sheets of paper across the table to Hanzo. "Just...Keep an ear out, alright? Call Officer Shimada if y'get any leads." His voice was drained, but relieved, and he drummed his fingers on the table while Hanzo scanned the documents. 

A soft sound of consent came from Hanzo, eyes returning to their original hardness, their original defensive state as he read over the documents almost boredly. "You can leave. I will be gone in my own time- and stop calling him _officer Shimada._ He is _Genji_ to me." He looked rather distracted by the text on the pages, staring as his eyes flickered over every line carefully. He was tired of _loopholes._  

Genji, who'd been patiently waiting outside, gave Jesse an encouraging smile when he left the room; he patted him on the shoulder. "Told you the hat would help." Hours passed; Hanzo left on his own, picked up by a white car that looked more fancy inside than it should have- and he had a bottle of alcohol in his hand before they even drove off, from what Genji saw. The younger officer had waved his brother off before returning to work, tossing low-blow jokes to Jesse every once in a while from his desk, mostly concerning the case he was looking over. And then, Genji began to pack up; shift was almost over, and he'd made progress- very little, but still progress enough he might have a lead- on a cold case, which to him... warranted a drink. And as he packed up, he looked over at the stressed and tired Jesse before moving over and leaning against Jesse's desk, ead tilted as he folded his arms. 

"So, ah... I was thinking I would go to the bar tonight for a drink, and well... if you want to go with me, I will pay." 

Jesse wasn't surprised at the return of Hanzo's hostility, the cool steel of his glare and the edge to his voice; it was more surprising that it'd ever left. He sighed, standing up slowly and nodding a bit, preparing to remove the television cart from the room, but he softly retorted to Hanzo's frustrated comment: "Well, within these walls, he's Officer Shimada t'me." The hat had possibly helped, he'd give Genji that; however, a short nod to his partner in agreement was the only outward signal he gave, effortlessly pushing the cart over the linoleum tiles and back into its storage closet, ejecting the disk of the footage before locking it up. He wasn't sure how he'd approach the rest of the case.

At least it was a fairly quiet day of desk work, running tickets through the system, sending out fine notices for those who hadn't attended court dates, and of course, picking away at the robbery. He was one of three detectives at the station, but rarely performed the duties of one, serving more frequently as an officer; still, this gave him the clearance to do further research on the case, and he poured over maps of the area, Mr. Yaro's financial statements, other reports referencing gang activity in the area, hoping for any kind of similarities, but the connections were few and far between. He took more smoke breaks that day than he'd care to admit. By the time they were set to pack up for the day, he was preparing to face the chill of the evening on another lonely commute home, where he'd fix himself cheap packaged ramen, down a Sapporo, and pass out after watching subtitled reruns of Seinfeld. It was a routine he was familiar with - but it seemed tonight, there'd be a change of plans. Genji's voice coming directly above made him jolt slightly - he was always amazed at how silently the kid could move - and he mentioned going to the bar. He hadn't had a good, strong drink in weeks, it felt, and now that the shadows of his past were making themselves known among his everyday thoughts, he figured now would be as good a time as any. 

"...Sure," he replied simply, scooting his chair back and stretching before he stood. "But it's gotta be a good ol' fashioned, run a' th' mill place, not one a' them wacky themed ones. I jus' want a whiskey an' a wooden bar top, please," he chuckled, shifting to shut down his computer and square away the last few files he had sitting out before he went to grab his belongings.

"There is a place downtown, somewhere we can go that is very old- not too many patrons, either," Genji replied, a soft smile on his face. He didn't want to admit it, but he was more than happy to entertain Jesse. Though, the reason... the reason, he'd keep buried until or unless he was ever forced to admit it. He packed up the last of his materials, packed and locked his desk before waiting at the door and calling a cab; if they were both going to be drinking, they'd need transport. He wasn't about to drive, nor bike, not when he was drunk- and he wouldn't let Jesse do so, either. 

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, a lighter from the other as he lit the thing his brother so highly despised him smoking; part of him still smoked simply to spite the elder, though he knew his brother didn't _hate_ it. He only hated _Genji_ doing it. He was rather glad for once, though, that he could get away with office clothes instead of a beat cop uniform. Irritating tie or not. 

"Sounds perfect," Jesse replied as sort of a relieved sigh, glad that the kid had some sensibility and class when it came to drinking. He'd stuffed his uniform vest into his backpack, and was left in an untucked shirt, a loosened tie, and his old leather jacket, stained in some places but still sharp. He appreciated the cab ride, though they were left sitting almost too close in the back, and he scootched against the door so as not to infringe on Genji's personal space; an almost uncomfortable silence was left hanging in the air as they rode, Jesse unsure of what to say and not wanting to look like an idiot in front of his partner - though he did look at him every few seconds, but whether it was out of insecurity or a deeper interest was unclear. 

He was glad to get to their destination, that much was clear. And the place was just as Genji described - small, cozy but not cramped, old, and populated with mostly small groups of old men, speaking in Japanese and playing cards, or watching the races on the establishment's lone television. The air was smoky and bitter, but in a surprisingly pleasant way, and Jesse didn't mind how close the barstools put him to Genji. "....They got American whiskey here?" he murmured as he squinted at the list of kanji that made up a menu posted above the bar. "No offense, y'all may do a lotta things right, but I can't say whiskey's one of 'em." He chuckled a bit awkwardly - maybe there was good Japanese whiskey, he wasn't sure; the only stuff he'd had was weak and sweet. 

Genji instinctively pulled himself against the door, sitting in a way that took up as little space as possible- a trait he'd learned while sitting in the car as a child. He had learned early on that taking up less space got him less complaints from his parents- which may have led to him taking up little to none in the house later on- and so he'd made a habit of his sitting patterns. But now? Now he could feel that glancing gaze, staring at him briefly every so often from the leather clad officer. He almost wanted to glance back- not to say he didn't, but he waited until Jesse was done looking himself. The younger officer took his seat, happy to sit so close to Jesse- it may have simply been the tight space of the car that made him so anxious. Now he was far more open, a soft smile on his face as he listened and laughed at McCree's question, though he did call and ask something in Japanese before answering. 

"Yes, they have some American bottles left, if that is what you want. Jack Daniels is what he said." 

"Some Jack sounds mighty fine right about now," Jesse chuckled, nodding to the bartender as he set his hat on the counter beside him. He couldn't help but watch Genji in the low light, warm and inviting; he seemed so open and happy here, such a difference from how he behaved on the force. It was a nice change, the way it made his eyes light up and his lips never fall out of a smile. 

He wished he could be that way.

He turned to instead stare at the bar top to hide the grimace that fell over his features, dedicating himself to mapping out the warped patterns in its wood grain, tapping his fingers over the scars that dotted the surface. All were indicative of hardships, of tragedy that had befallen this ancient thing, and yet it bore its marred surface so beautifully and openly. Jesse resented how he could only ever seem to hide his away, bury it under smoke and false confidence, because it only ever made him feel more like a liar. He downed his drink as soon as it was set in front of him, and he vowed to pay Genji back at some point, because he could tell this wasn't going to be a light evening. 

Genji was happy to smile, to order his own alcohol and wait patiently; he'd crossed his legs and was watching the rest of the bar intently, until he noticed the feeling of Jesse watching him. He turned his head and met his gaze with a genuinely interested one, smile changing ever so slightly. But then, he looked down, staring hard at the bar, and Genji grew concerned; he seemed almost upset, but the younger officer couldn't quite tell. He was still learning how his partner acted, what his expressions were- though, he'd never spent time with him outside the job save for once or twice.

He bit his lip and returned to watching the patrons until the alcohol arrived, at which point he drank only a bit at a time (knowing three drinks would have him a wreck) and stared in mild awe when Jesse downed his in one go. "Everyone seems to be able to down their alcohol like that.... I must be an anomaly... "

"Naw, it's good that'cha can't; means y'ain't gotten t'be too close with th' damn stuff," he scoffed back, snorting as he motioned for a refill. "I can 'cause I've had some long nights spend starin' at th' bottom of a bottle, an' I ain't proud a' it." He sighed, drumming his fingers on the slab of wood stretching before them. It was four glasses later that things actually started to get interesting; Jesse opened up more the more he drank, talking and laughing and joking with Genji as if they were childhood friends. He poked fun at Hanzo, and how he needed to pull "th' goddamn stick outta his ass, that man's too uptight fer 'is own good," and joked about himself, saying, "I'm jus' another drunken fool, y'ain't gotta take pity on me...Made m'own mistakes that brought me here...An' damn, they were _mistakes_...!" He was practically giggling at that point, and tempted to ask for another, but decided to order a beer instead, something lighter that he could nurse while they finished out the night. Still, he couldn't stop himself from staring at Genji over his Sapporo, sort of scrutinizing him, but his gaze wasn't critical, just discerning. 

A few times he opened his mouth as if to say something, but wouldn't silence it with a sip of beer instead. Mostly because he was never entirely sure what he wanted to say. But he couldn't keep himself from slipping forever. And when he stumbled, he fell _hard._ "Y'know, Genj...Y'...Y'got a real nice pair a' DSLs on ya... Ain't think I...Ever really noticed 'em, but them things is _fiiiiine_..!" he blurted clumsily, half pointing at the other man.

Genji had managed to get to his second glass by the time Jesse was on his beer, and had a visible flush across his face as he and his partner talked- McCree got a laugh out of him over his brother, who he had to agree was a little bit wired... and a little too secretive for his liking. Though he lightly punched McCree's arm when he talked about being a drunken fool, replying with something along the lines of "If you are a drunken fool what does that make me"; and then, then the older officer said something about him having DSLs. He'd been staring at Genji long enough that the flush wasn't entirely alcohol now, so maybe he'd noticed some imperfection Genji never had, but-

"What are... what are DSLs?" 

McCree snorted a bit, almost spitting out some of his beer in the process, but reigned himself in as he met Genji's gaze, crooked grin splitting his face and eyes slightly fuzzy, almost as if he wasn't looking at his partner, but somewhere just beyond him. "Y'know..!" he insisted like it was somehow common knowledge, while setting his drink down so he could make use of his hands, "Dick-Suckin' Lips..! D-S-L's..!" He counted out the letters on his fingers, giggling to himself - the buzz had very clearly set in.

"Like...They're plush lookin', all nice when they pucker up...Fer a kiss, an' shiny, too. Look real soft.." he explained, and reached out with his pointer finger. "May I..?" he asked as he pushed the finger to Genji's lips, as though he was shushing him. "Heh...They're's soft as they look.." he chuckled, tapping the lower lip twice before pulling his finger back. "You...d'you suck dick, kid..? 'Cause yer wastin' them things if y'don't." McCree was drunk. Had to be. Genji could feel the alcohol getting to him, too, but he was convinced his partner was flat out drunk. He had turned a shade of red that was obviously not from the alcohol, and the touch of Jesse's finger against his lips rather surprising and yet rather _nice._ for a brief minute, his mind wondered what those hands would feel like- No. He had to focus on the present. Fantasizing did nothing. Why was he fantasizing? 

"I... uh... I have never sucked," he admitted softly, eyes flickering back to the bar shyly. He wasn't gonna lie to Jesse. "I have never been with a man."

"There ain't no shame in that..! I mean, neither've...Shit, wait...Have I? Naw, I can't remember nothin'..." he stumbled through, laughing at his own forgetfulness. "That is, 'less yer a _virgin._ An' there's no way in hell yer a virgin, Shimada, not with a... purdy face like yours..!" His grin stretched across his face lazily, eyelids drooping a little as he looked Genji over, and stifled a burp. Still, a part of him - the stupidly drunk part - wondered what the young man's mouth would feel like pushed against his, how his skin would feel under those clothes, how he _tasted_ \- it couldn't be anything like the bitter smoke and steel Jesse had adjusted to tasting in his own mouth. 

Genji stared for a moment- Jesse _had to be drunk._ Nobody found him _pretty-_ not since his brother scarred him across the cheek, not since he was marked as a traitor- something later recinded, but it was still so... obvious. It had made him hyper aware of his appearance; it was why he'd dyed his hair, to attract attention away from the scar along the side of his face. He shook his head. "You're drunk," he said suddenly, biting his lip, trying to clear his head. His mind was addled, that was all- that was all this was. "You- you have to be drunk." 

He couldn't think of McCree like that. He was his _coworker_ , his... his partner. He'd admit he had a crush on Jesse- but he'd never act on it sober. and he knew it. A hand slid under the bar to hit the button to call back the cab, knowing that he wouldn't be able to walk home and Jesse most definitely wouldn't. But... they were tipsy. He'd indulge in one thing, and never mention it again. "I'm not... I'm not a virgin..."

"Yeah, y'caught me...I'm comin' up on hammered...!" he chuckled, belching into his fist. "Jack's some good shit, but it sneaks up on ya, heh..." He was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed as he thought, then he blurted, "But jus' 'cause I'm drunk don't make me a _liar_..! Yer still a...A fine lookin' young man, y'know that..?" He pointed a finger at him. "Don't let nobody tell y'otherwise." His smile may have been foolish, but his eyes gleamed with a wise sincerity beyond the haze of his drink. "Hell, I mean...I'd kiss a guy like you..! Who wouldn't..?" 

The younger officer let a laugh bubble up. "A lot of people would not kiss me," he replied softly, looking down as he bit his lip, rather embarrassed and flustered. "I have learned that..." Somewhere, he was aware Jesse wouldn't lie- and the deeper part of Jesse's eyes told him that. So instead he just gently pushed the other man, looking back at his drink. 

"Well, this ain't 'bout other people, Shimada - this's 'bout you an' me, partners in justice..!" he insisted, raising his bottle in a heroic faux toast. "See? I'll prove it--" He leaned over, kissing him right on the scar, just a chaste peck, but it lasted a little longer than intended. 

Genji turned his head with a skeptical expression at the 'I'll prove it', expecting something ridiculously stupid and very much alcohol driven when suddenly- 

Oh. Oh god, he was- Jesse was kissing him. 

The younger man's brain shorted out for a brief moment, and when it broke off he stared dumbfounded before quite literally falling off his bar stool. 

Well, he'd been _aiming_ for his scarred cheek. But, whether unaware that Genji was turning, or simply lacking the reflexes to change his course in his drunken state, Jesse didn't land on his cheek; his lips ended up firmly planted on his younger partner's, lingering longer than he'd intended there. By the time he'd pulled back, it wasn't really clear if he'd stayed put because he _liked_ it, but the grin he was wearing sure said something. He watched Genji gawk, sway, and fall backwards off his stool, lunging to catch him just a fraction too late and barely catching his tie - at least he didn't knock himself out with his head hitting the floor. "Uh...Sorry 'bout that, Shimada - guess I missed th' mark..!" was all he offered in explanation.

The green haired officer looked shocked, surprised, embarrassed and interested all at once and for a split second, wondered if what he wanted to do was okay- before deciding against even questioning it and grabbing Jesse by the arm, immediately heading towards the bathroom with him. He was glad he could walk in a straight line drunk. 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed a man on the lips - he'd probably been as drunk as he was now, or more. But it had been pretty nice; Genji's lips were soft, and really just having some warmth, some desire, something to distract him from the guilt eating him inside was a blessing. He didn't question the shift either, just stumbling after his partner, willing to follow wherever he wanted to go. When it became clear they were going to end up in the bathroom, a crooked grin splitting his face, eyes gleaming with a viscous joy.

They managed to get in through the door, and Jesse took initiative, pushing forward to pin Genji against the wall of the lone stall with his weight. Their bodies were pressed flush to one another, cheeks dark with their buzzes and a faint lust, and he wasted no time in capturing a hard, messy kiss, eager to find out what had been so addictive about the first one. 

Jesse was heavy, the kind of heavy that made Genji feel small and almost- almost- helpless, though this time it wasn't threatening. This time, his mind was half blank and his body was moving on its own, hands going up and around Jesse's shoulders as he returned the kiss. The only thing going through his mind was "this feels so much different from a woman and I like it"- or something similar. He wasn't paying enough attention, more apt to focus on the kiss that was only making him flush harder and lose sight of time passing.

God, it felt good. Just to hold someone, to have another person _this close_ and eager to be with him, _wanting_ him; he'd sorely missed intimacy like this the past three years. He was panting through his nose, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as little electric tingles ran down his spine while they smashed their lips together, unrestrained and almost violent. He parted his lips slightly into the kiss, a request to deepen it, as one large hand snaked around and grabbed Genji's ass firmly, groping him through his slacks as he pulled their hips against each other. The stimulation of it all had his head reeling, and he wasn't sure if he was more drunk on Jack or on his partner. The smaller man made a noise of surprise, happily deepening the kiss and letting Jesse pull him close; he'd tried to forget about being intimate with others, especially after his scarring- this was new, it was exciting, and he'd been craving the attentions. He tried desperately to press himself into Jesse, pulling himself as close as he could before he had to break for air. He was making out in the bathroom with his partner, who tasted like whiskey and smoke, and God above he was enjoying himself far more than he should.  

Jesse's mind wasn't exactly clear enough to be rational at this point, so he was losing himself in the kiss, even slowly grinding against Genji - but his sober self wouldn't be able to believe he was doing something like this, wouldn't believe he was making out with his _co-worker_. The act of depravity was only deepened by the fact that they were in a dingy bar bathroom, the door unlocked behind them. Sober Jesse would have a conniption fit. Genji tasted sharp and fresh, like citrus tea. His face was soft and slim, even with his scarring, not scruffy and wide like his own. He felt _good_ to hold. Genji found his hand maneuvering lower, taking in the feel of Jesse's jacket as it went- rough in a comforting way, the kind of thing he'd expect at home- not here. He pressed into the kiss almost harshly, hand that had slid down tugging at the waistband of Jesse's pants in an urgent need; he was curious, very curious, and wanted immediate satisfaction of that curiosity. His fingers were quick to find Jesse's belt buckle, barely needing to look and instead occupying himself with kissing McCree. 

He had to pause for a split second to catch his breath, red faced and panting as he gazed down at Genji with hazy, hooded eyes and licked his lips; then he was diving back in to kiss him again, nipping lightly at his lower lip. He wouldn't lie; the idea of another person touching him down below besides himself was incredibly appealing, since that would be the first time in three years. He was sort of helping Genji along with the hand not groping his assets, and the belt didn't take much to get open between the two of them. He was about to get his fly down, when suddenly - 

"...バスルームで？嫌なこと。次回は部屋に入る." The door had creaked open, and the bathroom was flooded with the warm light from the main room as a stranger muttered something in Japanese, sounding disgruntled. 

Genji stiffened and stopped, pulling away almost instantaneously as he tried to peer around the hulking frame of Jesse McCree. Oh, no- someone was here and they had seen. His face turned red- not quite fully ashamed not embarrassed, but warm enough he tried to hide in McCree's chest. "私のお詫び...それは事故だった、再び起こることはありません," he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard at the doorway. "We must... we must stop, McCree." His hand hadn't moved, and he sounded as though he wasn't entirely sure of himself, but he was clearly trying to not exist; inside, his heart felt like it was twisting in horrible ways, and he tried to shut it down before he began to cry. What were they doing? 

The moment snapped Jesse to his senses as well, and he blinked, loosening his grip on Genji as his head swam, both from drinking and trying to make sense of the situation. Had he really been _making out with his partner?_ In a _bar bathroom..?_  

He fumbled his own apology in butchered Japanese, and took a half step back from Genji, despite how the man was clinging to him. "H-hey now, we...We was jus' tipsy, it don't men nothin'...Plenty a' men make, uh, honest mistakes when they're sloshed," he tried to assure him, but realized too late it didn't sound very reassuring. "I...I'm sorry fer...Takin' advantage of y'like that..." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, unsure of what to say. 

He nodded, biting his lip and refusing to meet Jesse's eyes as he pulled away, finding his pockets to shove his hands into. He was glad he'd called the first cab- he'd get a different one for himself. He wasn't sure he could ride with McCree right now. "I... I am sorry, McCree. This was- this was inappropriate. It was not your fault, it was mine. I should have stopped myself." Honest mistakes? He wished he could erase this from their memories.

"You did not take advantage... I... we should go." 

McCree hurried to refasten his pants, swallowing hard and conflicted on how to proceed; he didn't know if he should try and move on, to ignore what had just occurred, or attempt to comfort Genji. He stayed quiet, shifting his hips awkwardly before turning to wash his hands. "It was...Uh, we jus' got caught up in it. I mean, I didn't exactly control m'self either," he muttered, running a hand back through his hair with a sigh; he could already feel a headache creeping up on him. "Yeah, I...I need a cab. 'Least t'my station." He glanced over his shoulder at Genji, a concerned grimace settled on his face. "There... There is one outside," Genji murmured in response, staying still and leaning against the stall wall, avoiding Jesse's gaze. He didn't want to give away the shame he felt- at least on the surface, ti was barely there. "I will call myself another one... Ride is on me." He looked like he was trying to shrink in on himself, eyes almost closed as he wiped his mouth and tried to ignore the man that was now ever so casually going into the stall behind him. Tried to ignore the man that probably saved his dignity.

"I..." He didn't really know what he should follow that with, so he let the sentence die before anything more left his mouth. Without someone in his arms, Jesse suddenly felt very _cold_ , despite his jacket. "... Thanks. I'll find a way t'pay y'back, alright..?" he added, voice soft and hoarse. Feeling guilty and concerned, he hung his head as he slunk from the bathroom, stopping by his seat to grab his bag. Genji's jacket was still laying on the bar in front of his stool, so he took a ¥2000 note from his wallet and slipped it into one of the pockets. His heart ached and his stomach felt off as he walked outside; true to his partner's word, there was a cab waiting there for him. It could've been for both of them, but...Not now. He recited his address to the driver once he'd settled in the back, and hung his head in his hands; he didn't want to know what tomorrow would be like. 

Genji waited long after Jesse had left to leave; he'd called a cap ten minutes before his fourth glass, quite possibly the most he'd ever drunk. And that was when he left- and gained a new appreciation for why Hanzo drank himself stupid some nights. It made the world go away. It was good, for a minute- Until it all came crashing down on him when he got in the cab, when he wasn't in front of so many people that he'd be embarrassed to continue existing if he broke. He was sitting with his face towards the window, barely aware of the tears sliding down his face, barely acknowledging them. 

Jesse was driven home in total silence, and his apartment was equally silent; empty and desolate. He missed the company of another human, even a pet or AI companion; when it was this quiet, he was left alone with his thoughts, which never ended up good after too long. He didn't turn on any of the lights as he made his way upstairs, shuffling into his bedroom and dropping his bag on the floor. He felt like he needed a shower; he ended up standing under the water until it cooled without actually washing himself. It felt melancholy. 

He crawled into his bed with a sigh, feeling dizzy and distant - still drunk. But it didn't have the same blackout effect he was used to. He decided to try and relieve any lingering stress with a quickie; but midway through his fantasy, Genji's imagined face morphed into his older brother's, and he jolted upright with a gasp, panting and unnerved.

Was he going crazy? 

The door of his apartment looked deary, sounded creaky when he opened it- and suddenly, he felt like it was a lot colder in his own home. He had to steady himself against the wall before he could get much further inside; once the world was back under his feet, he closed it behind himself. He wanted to disappear, wanted to curl up and be ignored for the rest of time and for a minute he wondered if he could. But then, all he craved was his own bed- one he'd gotten used to being empty, and for once, was glad it was. What was he thinking? McCree was drunk, so was he- Genji knew it would have only ended in regret. He didn't even strip his clothes off, his shoes falling off as he walked to his room and crawled under the covers.

He'd have a hangover in the morning- he could call in and excuse himself, considering he hadn't used a sick day in almost a year. That would work. Somewhere, he knew the tears that were now falling without restraint wouldn't help the raging headache that was coming- but the rest of him didn't care. He just wanted to cry for being such a fool, and he did- until he fell asleep with none left to shed. He'd never mention this again- not to McCree, not to anyone.


	3. Blood Gone Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting at the station, in which a cold case seems to still contain a spark of warmth.

For once in his goddamn life, McCree woke up on time.

Sure, it was to a headache so intense he could barely open his eyes and his stomach doing acrobatics beneath his rib cage, but it was seven am, giving him enough time to get ready and get to work by eight. Practically falling out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom, jamming his toe on the door and responding with a string of profanity; the pain ricocheted through his body and he felt nausea wash over him, barely steadying himself on the sink basin before he retched, only producing a watery, stinging bile.

He drank a glass of water and brushed his teeth, but could still taste the sourness of his own sick over the mint of the toothpaste. He didn't bother shaving, just running a comb through his hair and and cold washcloth over his face - god, he looked older than he remembered - before settling for some coffee, two aspirin, and a protein bar. The only uniforms he had weren't washed yet, so he pulled on a slightly wrinkled getup, not caring at the moment whether or not he was at the peak of cleanliness.

Contrary to most times he drank, Jesse remembered the previous night in vivid detail, and as he shoved his things into his shabby backpack, he couldn't stop replaying the events from the bar in his head.  
The accidental kiss.  
The bathroom.  
Genji in his arms.  
Their closeness.  
The interruption.

...His partner, looking for the world as though he was on the verge of breaking down.  
The apologies.  
The silent cab ride.

He was glad that the L train rattled loudly enough on its tracks to drown out his thoughts, and he let himself get lost in the rumbling, mechanical sound.

When McCree got to the station, Genji wasn't there. His desk was immaculate as always, but there was no trace he'd been there- no coffee cup, no pastry on his nor Jesse's desk, his chair pushed all the way in- not crooked, like he always left it if he would be back later that day. No, instead, a slip was on Genji's desk; "sick day/transfer calls to partner Officer McCree" was written on it, an effort by the station to prevent anyone from giving the sick individual too much when returning. It also let the partner know not to respond to any calls- their backup was out that day.

The green haired wonder himself was still at home, his alarm having been thrown against the wall hard enough to both dent the wall and break the clock. He'd resigned himself to using the phone as an alarm before groggy calling in sick, sounding as horrible as he felt; he hadn't even said he needed to call in sick and the receptionist, bless her heart, told him to stay home. And he did, trying to go back to sleep so the night wouldn't repeat itself in his head, and glancing at Jesse's number every once in a while- he needed help dealing with this damn hangover, but the only person he could ask besides his partner was probably hunting the people who slandered his name. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb Hanzo- But how could he talk to Jesse?

Genji had called in sick. McCree had, in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he was at fault.

Of course his partner, his friend, one of the only consistencies in this empty, drifting life, burnt out like ash floating in the wind-- of course he wouldn't want to see him after last night. He'd ruined what they'd had, hadn't he? His loneliness overpowered his common sense, and he dove for the first warm body he'd seen, the only one who'd welcomed him. But that fleeting moment of satisfaction likely came at the cost of his friendship. He felt sick and lonely as he took a seat at his desk, rubbing his temples in the hopes of easing his headache somewhat. No one else at the station was talking; or maybe they were, and the pain pulsing in his skull was muting them out to mere murmurs to Jesse. The lack of a little pastry, a sign of goodwill and compassion, made his heart heavy; even just having another officer to talk to would ease the ache right now. On top of that, unable to take calls and at a loss for how to proceed in the robbery case, there was little he could do besides sit and stew in his thoughts.

He wouldn't be surprised if Genji had transferred stations by tomorrow.

Genji eventually swallowed his fear. He needed help- he'd never been so hungover. He'd never had to be. He made sure his phone was on as low a brightness as it would go, opening the messaging app to text Jesse- if he didn't get a reply, then he was right and McCree wanted nothing to do with him now that they'd both indulged too much.

 _Jesse, I know you may not want to talk to me right now and that would be fine, I know last night was not the best of events and... I would not blame you if you never wanted to hear from me again after what happened, but I need help. I do not know how to handle a hangover. Looking at my phone hurts but noise hurts more. And I do not know if I can eat. You are the only other man I know of who can drink this much besides my brother- and I think you might understand why I do not want to tell him how I got drunk._  
A few moments passed.  
_And one more thing. Could you get into my desk, third drawer on the left side, and pull out the blue folder? Unless we were sprung with another case, it might give you something to do, since Hanzo has yet to return a lead on the robbery case. Cold cases always help me focus. And I am sorry there is nothing to eat today. I know you have a bad habit of not eating breakfast- mainly because I can hear your stomach growl until lunch._

He felt bad for leaving Jesse without someone there today without a conversation partner... the least he could do was give him something to focus on.

His phone buzzed, and for a moment, he didn't want to answer, too busy staring into his desk while lost in his thoughts; the second time, the shrill vibrations against the wooden desktop snapped him back to reality. Groggily, he checked the messages he'd received, eyes widening in surprise, then squinting as he attempted to process the wall of text apparently sent to him by his absent partner. The worried cycling of guilty words that started his text caught his eye first, and he frowned; that was something he wanted to clarify quickly.  
_Slow down there. I don't hold anything against you for... Whatever last night was._

He sighed, and slogged his way through the rest of his text, rubbing his head as the glare from his screen stung his dehydrated eyes. A hangover so bad he couldn't come in, huh? Explains things.

_Okay, bud. First things first, you have to drink your body weight in water. Maybe chill out in the bathroom - never know what may decide to make a reappearance. Knock back a few advil. Eat sparingly - rice oughta do it. Shower, if you can stand, sleep it off. That's the best advice I got._  
A few moments passed.  
_... I'll look into that cold case, though my motto is to let sleeping dogs lie. I got breakfast, don't worry - actually woke up on time today. I'll keep an eye on the phone in case H calls, and hope to see you in tomorrow._  
He knew about cold cases. He also knew that they were buried for a reason, lost to history and the memories of all but the victims or the perpetrators; some cases were not meant to be solved. But, as Genji had said, at least this could keep him occupied.

_I have to leave my bed? Lovely. If I die today, let it be known alcohol is my greatest enemy. Also- you write extremely well. I will probably text you through the day- if I cannot be company in person, this will have to do._

He was mildly glad Jesse couldn't see him then. His heart felt lighter, and the tears that burned his eyes again were less of fear or sadness and actually of joy- though none fell, he knew they were there. He felt better, reading those words from Jesse. they could still be friends- regardless of what had happened. He got out of bed slowly to try and do as he was told. He hoped the case would give him something to do- Genji had been looking through it for months, and though he thought he had some leads or connections, he didn't know- and if anything, Jesse would find something he didn't.

_I'll put in your last will and testament, partner. And I'll gladly keep you company while you get all this outta your system._

Jesse hit send with a soft snort, his thoughts going out to the man; he could remember nights from his youth, his days at community college, where he'd end up so wasted he couldn't walk, and the next morning he was always wrecked. At least he didn't have to weather this one alone.

He turned his attention back to the blue folder with a sigh, grimacing once he got a glance at the case; it was a grisly one, and he couldn't fathom why Genji would pour over this type of thing for _entertainment;_ it was a wonder how the boy was so chipper, even though he probably knew how to kill everyone in the station without getting caught. Or maybe that was exactly why- and to think he had a dozen more files in his desk might be a little more than a wonder.  

The victim had been a young girl, schoolgirl age, named Miki Hikoro, who was found brutally murdered after a week of being missing. Discovered in an old, overgrown parking lot, she was already beginning to decompose, and had been laid there in a peaceful pose, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed at the ankle, dressed in clothing that did not belong to her, nor were recognized by the family. Strangely, she was missing her right hand, right breast, right eye, and right pigtail; her tongue had been removed and the toenails had been pried from her right foot. Cause of death was ultimately unclear, as she bore marks of strangulation and blunt force trauma, including fractures to the skull, but the toxicology report revealed that she'd also had lethal amounts of Arsenic in her system; which had come first, and which was fatal, were too difficult to determine this long after her death. The case was old, by most considerations- five years without a lead, laid to rest and signed off as 'unsolvable' by the chief of police. A 'tragic end for a frail girl'. 

Jesse shuddered.

Genji had notes crammed _everywhere_ in papers stuck behind the initial files, on _**everything.**_ From the height of the girl to the responses recorded and transcripted of all those interviewed, he'd taken meticulous notes, even on the poison used and how it acted in the human body. He'd done research that would put normal people on government watch lists; yet somehow, he'd been able to go deeper. He had delved into the effects of poisons and wounds, head trauma and blood loss, how loss of organs affected living state- even how pain levels pushed or pulled someone closer to the brink of death.

_If you have any questions about the notes, just ask, by the way,_ came a text about an hour later. _It just occurred to me it might be hard for you to decipher parts._  

 Jesse scoured the file, reading every official report before he delved into the stacks of notes Genji had crammed into the blue folder on every possible detail that seemed even remotely noteworthy; he could tell a good portion of them were in kanji, and even the ones in English were hard to read on account of his partner's hasty, messy handwriting, dissolving into chicken scratch at times. Locations were circled, additional pictures added from internet print-outs, injuries on her autopsy photos were diagrammed. Honestly, he was surprised just how much effort Genji had put into a case five years cold. It was a tragedy, certainly. But as he read deeper and deeper into it - even deeper still after Genji texted, as he was able to reply with photos of the sections he couldn't understand for a translation - the more he started to realize why the young man had gotten so stuck on this case. The weirdly specific details were odd, true, not the indicators of a random killing. Something familiar nagged at him when he read the autopsy. And on top of that, there was the feeling of something... Missing. As though certain details of the case had been expunged. It didn't sit right with him.

Slowly, memories crept into the forefront of his thoughts, and he got a weird chill down his spine. This was somehow eerily similar to one of the first homicides he'd been placed on after he moved here; he decided to text Genji, just to be sure he wasn't mistaken.

_Hey, does any of this remind you of the Otoyuma case, that homicide from two years back? The victim...She was around the same age, I think, and missing her left hand - nothing else, was presumed to be some kind of sick souvenir for the killer. Never found, even once DNA nabbed the guy._  
He paused to look more details up on the station computer, and his stomach sank as he read over some of the very notes _he'd_ written. He must not have been paying attention then. ... _Her toxicology report also mentions trace Arsenic found in bloodstream, but cause of death was blunt force trauma to head. I smell something fishy. You dig?_

_have been. That case has been the subject of my research for almost six months. It seems to be missing pieces, such as parts of interviews or followups on leads, but I cannot find any trace of them nor find reasonable evidence to reopen the case. I ahve been working off what I can without alerting the chief to my 'antics'. However, if you are in any theoretical situation asking for unauthorized help in an undercover investigation, however, I must tell you that in said theoretical situation I have to decline to assist. In any theoretical situation. Theoretically. I really... really do not need the Chief on my back._

Genji's texts were slightly slurred, extra spaces and at times even repeated words as though he'd been half watching his fingers. In truth, he was struggling to keep water down- but he wouldn't admit that. He'd have to call for delivery today- maybe he'd actually call for pizza. Maybe.

Jesse read through the first reply, nodding to himself; he'd noticed the same discrepancies, the same continuity errors that came with missing parts of a story. He also already knew of the tension between Genji and the chief; his partner was curious and determined, despised leaving families without answers, without closure, and tensed to push the chief's buttons when cases were announced closed. He vied for more time, more resources, a greater effort from adjoining districts - but the chief always declined. He didn't like to drag things out for an unnecessary amount of time, claiming it was a waste of precious hours that could be put towards other cases, ones with more potential leads.

_Naw, I'm not asking for unauthorized help to do an off-record investigation. I'm... Looking into cases covered by other prefectures to...Satisfy personal curiosity. There's no theoretical undercover shit going on here!_

He accompanied the message with a winking emoji, snorting to himself. Then, it was back to the computerized records. The problem, he realized, with the Otoyuma case - Rin was the girl's first name - was that after their station's initial involvement, it had been transferred to the Shibuya station because they were closer to where the body was found. And therefore no one had noticed the possible links to the infamous Hikoro murder.

_Well then, consider me in. It is rather nice to have company in my hobbies,_ came the sarcastic reply, though knowing Genji it was still an actual thanks towards Jesse- now, at least, he wasn't alone in digging. At the very least, not alone.

And the next day, he was more than chipper- he'd come in on time, seemingly forgetting his coat (and smokes, for once) as he bounded in the door, dropping a pastry on Jesse's desk before setting down with the research he himself had done. The file in his desk was just the tip of the iceberg; he'd come in with a _suitcase._ And he'd set up a majority of his own work on his desk by the time Jesse walked in. The man had drawn up _maps,_ gathered information on the suspects and those arrested for the case- though not for the murder, but for other parts. Guilty-by-association. Sucked to be them. But Genji had begun working the minute he'd come in the door, forgetting even his coffee- it was a wonder how the man was still awake by the time he heard Jesse walk in the door.

Jesse was there the next morning, on time but skirting lateness, and looked tired, as always. He was still intrigued by the case and its missing pieces, and, unable to access the digital archives at home, had consequently spent a good portion of the night fidgety and sleepless, lost in thought. Rin Otoyuma. He remembered the tragedy well, how devastated her parents had been when their missing girl, their only daughter, turned up dead. He thought, once the killer had been apprehended through DNA testing, they'd found closure. But if this discovery lead deeper, he'd be tearing open the stitches of an old wound, reviving the pain and uncertainty that came with the loss of a child. 

The wellspring of information Genji had toted in with him blew Jesse away. He knew with his partner's heart condition, he was confined to a lot of desk work at the station, since solo patrols weren't an option for him, but even then, this was a level of preparedness he wasn't expecting. "Holy smokes..." he muttered as he ambled to the desk once he'd poured himself some watery coffee, peering over Genji's shoulder. "You sure gotta lot a' free time on yer hands, kid." He could've sworn, too, that some of the suspects - excluding those actually charged - looked familiar to the ones in the Otoyuma case. Then it hit him: they were convicted sex offenders, required to attend lineups if any violent or sexual crime concerning a minor occurred within a three kilometer radius of their residence.

"Can I getcha a coffee or anythin'...? Y'sure look busy, might need th' energy..."

"Coffee sounds wonderful there is a pastry on your desk I made sure it was vanilla," Genji replied, though his words were an unbroken sentence and sounded oddly rushed- how long had he been awake? _Had he slept last night???_ The world may never know. Genji knew the pain of losing loved ones- but he knew the itch of wanting know the absolute truth even more. His father had been killed- and unlike his brother, who'd sunk into an irreparable depressive state that only worsened as he was targeted, he dug for the truth behind his father's untimely death for years. And he knew that the comfort in knowing justice was properly given was far better than wondering if the end really was the end.

"Free time, yes, along with internet and health issues do you have a pen?"

"Health issues? Uh, sure, wait a sec--" Jesse began to question his statements, but was distracted by his request for a writing utensil, and rummaged in his desk until he found a ballpoint pen with ink, and minimal teeth marks (he had a habit of chewing the ends since he couldn't smoke indoors). ".. Thanks fer th' pastry, by th' by," he added, pouring a cup of coffee for the young man before sitting down at his desk with a tired sigh, and examining the white chocolate almond scone that was sitting there. "Um, so, how 'bout y'gimme a report of yer findin's so far...an' talk real slow, an' breath b'tween sentences," he instructed, pulling off pieces of the scone and popping them in his mouth while keeping an eye on Genji.

"Breathe? What do you take me for, a _rookie?"_

And so he started talking, half drinking more coffee- he started talking about the sex offenders that had been interrogated during the case, and how pieces were missing from three interviews in particular; Hatori Tendou, Kazuma Rokujou, and Akihiko Kago- though one of the interrogated members of the group was dead, having been killed in a drive-by, and the other two were incarcerated for 'repeated offences'. One of them was in prison- the other was waiting to be sentenced. "We should at least try to talk to them before one of them manages to get shanked or worse," Genji mentioned when he finally paused long enough to actually eat his own pastry- he clearly had no intention of passing out, as that was a cinnamon roll. If the man sugar crashed, nobody would be surprised. Almost an hour and a half into Genji's rather intense explanation of the case and the background of the remaining, live suspects, the chief almost caught him in his description- at which point he dropped the suitcase closed, and with practiced words redirected the conversation straight back to the robbery case. He did this more often than he'd admit. And then, when the chief had left again, he was machine-gunning info all over again-

Tendou has been accused of molesting a child and was brutally murdered in prison, Rokujou had been accused of assaulting several women on the shores of Hakkaido before coming to Tokyo and trying to continue- which got him arrested, and then got him arrested again last month. And then there was Kago. Creepy, creepy Kago had managed to get the nickname of the 'Sock Strangler', as he strangled his victims before violently assaultign them and leaving their body in the bathroom. According to the stories covering his arrest, he objected to the nickname- which made it stick even more. 

Jesse nearly dozed off once or twice during his partner's lengthy explanation and detailing of the suspects in the cases; as chipper as Genji was, he found himself leaning his cheek on his palm and sliding towards the desk, eyelids drooping before Genji would poke him, and he'd jolt awake. It had been a long night, and this was a lot of information to process - though he could see why the men he spoke of had been suspects, and why they might have information that was missing from the file. He was busy looking up where each of the remaining men were being held, taking notes on visiting hours and jotting down a few specifics Genji had mentioned when the chief came by to check on their progress; his partner had practiced this routine, but Jesse was slow to catch on, and practically fell out of his chair in alarm when he caught the gruff officer staring at him. Thinking quickly, he opened a new tab on his desktop - the Google homepage. "We are hard at work, sir," he remarked, writing down something non-existent from his computer "research." "Jus', uh, jus' feelin' a lil' scatterbrained, sir, didn't sleep too good last night. Sorry, sir. Yes, I know I oughta lay off th' coffee after four in th' afternoon, sir." That was a close call if he'd ever had one.

Genji got to the end of explaining the criminal history of the suspects and Jesse was just returning from making photocopies of the available interview transcripts for reference during visitation, when the phone on Genji's desk rang, and he watched his partner's face blanch white. "こんにちは、島田源司が話しています - ハンゾ、なぜ私の電話で犯罪のために電話していますか？ あなたが救急車を必要とするなら、これについては番号があります - あなたは何を言ったのですか？" He almost dropped his phone. "Jesse, we need to go _now_." 

"Go? Where? What happened..?" he asked, but was already holstering his pistol, grabbing his flashlight, and shrugging on his uniform windbreaker. With that tone of voice, there was no time to waste.


End file.
